A Picture of Fantasy
by Destiny Rain Evans
Summary: Steve Rogers has always lived with the heat. It's a constant on the barren and isolated road he calls home. Between jobs he takes from Shield, spending time with his best friend and supervising agent Natasha, and looking for scraps in the wasted cities of what had once been America, he looks for J.B.B. The man whose initial's have been branded into to his arm since birth.
1. Chapter One

The heat was fading fast, its fiery grasp vanishing with the last rays of the sunlight. The starks began to warily shine as darkness descended, each one shining its own light down upon a lone figure crouched among the rocks.

Steve drew his thumb over the edge of a knife, a small smile curving over his dry lips as a small bead of blood welled up from his finger. It would do. If anyone tried to give him trouble in the city, he would have a suitable defense at least.

Steve almost wished he had left that morning, it would have saved him all of this hassle. But he couldn't have reached the city in the hour left until sunrise and the minutes it took after sunrise for the temperature to go from the nineties to the two hundreds. Steve had instead rationally chosen to stay inside his thermopack—something like a cross between a cooler and a really big sleeping bag—until the temperature had dulled down to a pleasantly cool one hundred and fifteen.

Steve sighed as he slid his thin arms through the pack's straps and set off down the barren pathway to the city, leaving the cave he had used as shelter from the elements far behind him with no trace of his presence remaining.

He trekked down the desert path for hours, nothing surrounding him but hard baked dirt and the occasional grave marker. Steve gritted his teeth as he passed a small, gray one with a child's doll underneath it. The elderly and children were always hit especially hard by the heat and the population of humans grew smaller every year as a result. Steve didn't want to think about how many people he had seen dying from dehydration, or being baked and boiled alive in their own fluids.

Steve passed the last cross and was faced with the great stone wall that protected the city. Guards dressed in white military garb patrolled the top, their guns within easy reach at their hips as their watchful eyes scanned the road leading into the city. A few travelers were entering now, wearing the telling dark red gear of mercenaries. Steve slid into step behind them, keeping his head down as one of them turned to look at him, grunting something to his friend as his beady eyes narrowed. Steve was obviously deemed unthreatening as the man grunted and turned back to his friends, a harsh laugh escaping him as one of his comrades said something under his breath.

Steve gritted his teeth and turned his attention back to the city laid out before him. Made from the ruins of what had once been New York, the city was a strange combination of mud, dirt and half melted metal. The streets thronged with merchants and travelers alike while thieves snuck through the crowd looking for a good target.

"Steve!"

Steve frowned as he heard Natasha's voice. It seemed to be coming from somewhere above him.

"Steve!" He heard again.

He turned and spotted her lounging atop a small hut, a half-eaten orange in her hand and a pile of peels in the other. Steve smiled as he hurried over to her and scrambled up side of the hut. It was hot on there, the roof was concrete so it didn't melt or burn, but it still could burn him if he touched it. Natasha had laid down her thermopack so they could both sit on it. It was sleek and brown to blend in with the dirt. Packs like that cost more money than Steve had ever seen, and for a moment he was envious before he reminded himself that it was his choice not to have that luxury.

"I didn't think you'd make it," she said as she passed him a slice of orange. Steve gave her a skeptical look as he reached out to take the fruit.

"It's real," she assured him, eating a slice herself, "not genetically modified or anything."

Steve nibbled at the end, a small gasp escaping him as flavor exploded in his mouth. He shoved the whole slice in his mouth, a groan escaping him as he chewed on the fruit. He had never had orange before, or any fruit for that matter that wasn't genetically modified to have the most vitamins and the least flavor. He thought he had had an apple once, but he couldn't quite remember.

"Here," Natasha passed him the rest of the orange, taking one slice for herself and splitting the peels between them. This was the desert, nothing was wasted. They sat in silence, the only sounds coming from the market and the crunch as Steve bit into the orange slice.

"Do you have it?" Natasha asked quietly, slipping into business mode. Steve nodded as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the old cellphone. Natasha took it from his hand and smiled.

"I would ask why Shield needs an old, rusted cell phone," Steve began, "but I don't think I'd get an answer."

Natasha smiled, already unscrewing the back of the phone. "You're learning."

Steve shook his head in disbelief. About eighty years ago, Shield and Hydra had broken out into a war, the resulting destruction had created the world they lived in now. Both sides were thought to have been destroyed, but Steve had learned—seen for himself—that Shield was very much still up and running. Natasha was one of their agents.

"Say hi to Clint for me?" Steve asked and Natasha nodded as she pulled the back off the cell phone.

"Where'd you find it?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled as she held the back of the phone between her teeth.

Steve popped the last slice of orange into his mouth mournfully before he replied. "Chicago. People have just started rebuilding there and so there was lots to scrounge and easy ways to do it."

Natasha peered up at Steve. "Did you…" she whispered, eyes wide and deceivingly innocent. Steve smiled as he reached into his pack and pulled out the old remains of a computer. "For you, Nat."

Natasha gasped and snatched it from his fingers, running her hand over the back and smiling as she heard the clatter of parts.  
"I owe you big," she turned to him, "how much?"

"Nah," Steve waved his hand, "a gift between friends."

Natasha grinned and for a moment Steve thought she was going to hug him, but then the moment was gone and she was tucking the computer in her pack along with the phone.

She tugged three small bottles from her pack and Steve's eyes widened as he heard the slosh of liquid inside them.

"Here," she handed them to him, "three water bottles. More portable than gold." She winked at him coyly, "Don't spend it all at once."

Steve chuckled as he took them and tucked them into his pack. "Thanks, Nat."

He began to stand, but paused as Natasha grabbed his arm. "You know…" she began, "Shield could use an agent like you."

"A scrawny asthmatic nobody with a penchant for low blood sugar?" Steve shook his head, "I prefer working like this."

"The compound has lots of food and water," Natasha leaned in, "and fruit. You don't get paid, but you get all you can eat and drink, and a good place to sleep."

Steve hesitated, but shook his head. "I wouldn't be much use, I'm afraid. Besides, I kind of like it out here. Sunlight, wind—"

"Starvation and disease?"

Steve shook his head and Natasha rolled her eyes as she began to eat her orange peels.

"Frost! Frost on the southern beaches!"

Steve started as a man came barreling into the marketplace, his chest heaving as he tripped and sprawled on the dirt.

"Frost?" Steve muttered, "But that's only been in California…"

"What did you see?" A woman asked and the man straightened, gasping out a thank you as someone passed him a bottle of alcohol. He took a long sip and passed it back before he began speaking.

"I'm a fisherman. I was coming in to land with my catch when my boat caught on something. I jumped off the boat into the water and my feet landed on something hard and I slipped. When I reached down…I found this!" He pulled something out of his pocket and someone leaned forwards to look at it.

"It's ice!" He exclaimed.

"I only could take a small piece," The fisherman said, "but the chunks were all over the beach, and on the water."

People began talking excitedly as the man was led away by people who wanted to hear more, each clamoring to buy him a drink.

Steve pulled on his backpack. "I'm going to go question him," he turned to Natasha who had a grave look on her face.

"I'm going to go report to my superiors." She muttered as she stood and began rolling up her thermopack. "If they haven't heard of the frost yet, they will have soon and our new orders will be coming in."

She paused, her eyes flickering up to his. "If I need you…" she began.

"I'll be waiting for your message," Steve replied and Natasha nodded as she jumped off the roof and vanished into the crowd. Steve hurried down after her—much less gracefully—and hurried towards the bar the man had been taken to.

"A metal arm?" One man exclaimed, "His left? Impossible!" The fisherman said something about the man and the others leaned in to listen.

Steve reached down and touched the small J.B.B. marked on his left arm. It was a birthmark, everybody had it. The initials of their soul mate, if such a thing existed. Steve had only met one person who had met their match, an agent from Shield named Erik Lensherr. He was a very professional fellow—until you mentioned Charles Xavier, then he would either get a halfway dreamy, halfway guilty look on his face, or punch the person who mentioned him. Steve knew from experience.

"I saw him on the shore while I was fishing!" The now very drunk fisherman exclaimed, "He had a big red star on the metal arm and a huge gun strapped to his back! I didn't really think anything of it until later—you know there are those scavengers around there—when I remembered…" The man leaned in, his eyes fogged over with an unnatural sheen. "The Winter Soldier."

Steve rolled his eyes as he pushed off the wall and headed back outside. The man was making things up now. The Winter Soldier had died with Hydra, it was common knowledge.  
Steve frowned as he stopped at a stand to buy some nutrient bars. The frost however…that was an issue.

There had always been cold zones that every traveler was warned away from. There were areas full of storms and temperatures that their technology was not prepared for. The thermopacks were made for heat, not cold, as was everything here. If the cold was traveling from Europe and Asia to America, they had to be prepared. He would have to go to the coast and see if what the man was saying was true, Steve decided. At the very least he could confirm the rumors.

As for the man with the metal arm and the big gun…Steve got a taser from the nearest vender.


	2. Chapter Two

It didn't take long to travel to the coast, but the difference from the city was alarming. The temperature became colder and colder with every new day until Steve could almost travel the whole day—barring noon when it still became burning hot. By the time Steve reached the beach, even that wasn't enough to deter the cold from seeping into his bones and freezing the ground beneath his feet.

Steve drew the heavy coat he had bought at the market around his shoulders, trembling with the cold he was unused to. The beach crunched under his feet as he made his way to the water, leaving broken shards of frozen sand in his footsteps. Steve sighed tiredly, peering up at the sky. It had to be at least one by now, if not later, and it was still freezing cold.

It's unnatural, he thought as he stepped around a large white rock, Why would it suddenly become so cold?

Steve cried out as his foot caught against something hard and he was sent head over heels into the frozen sand. He came up spluttering and coughing, spitting sand out of his mouth and rubbing his eyes unhappily. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, a low sound of fear escaping him as he saw the full beach spread out before him for the first time.

Everything was frozen. Waves arched dramatically in their final descent, frozen in time. Chunks of ice stuck out randomly from the water and dotted the beaches like huge white stones. It was one such stone he had tripped over.

Carefully pushing himself up, Steve stepped up to the water's edge. It seemed solid enough, and he carefully tested it with one foot, listening for any sign it might give way beneath him. It held, and he stepped onto the frozen water carefully. Walking out onto the ice, he peered out into the distance. It didn't seem to end, and once the waves faded it was a simple expanse of frozen water. Steve made his way out on the ice, testing each step carefully before moving forwards.

He walked until he couldn't see the beach anymore, and still there seemed to be no end to the ice. Curiously, he bent down and put down his pack, squinting at the ice and trying to see how far down it went. He wiped at it, trying to clear away some of the fog, though only succeeding at steaming it up more with his breath. If he moved his head just so, he could see fish shaped shadows down there and what looked like coral, though he couldn't see it very well. A chill ran down his spine. None of the fish were moving, they all stayed in place as if held by an invisible hand. Steve was no expert on water life, but he was pretty sure fish were supposed to move in water.

Pain exploded in the side of Steve's head. He cried out as he was sent sprawling against the ice. A boot landed next to his head and an icy hand slammed over Steve's mouth. Steve scratched at the attacker's hand, panic blooming in his chest as his hands met metal. He reached up and tried to scratch at his attackers face, his nails scraping lightly against the man's cheek before it was knocked away. The man wrapped his arm around Steve's arms and torso, effectively pinning him against his attackers body. Steve gave a muffled cry, struggling against the man's powerful grip. The man grunted in pain as one of Steve's bony elbows clipped his ribs and his grip weakened. Steve twisted, and the man dropped him, sending him tumbling on to the ground. The man was on top of him in moments, keeping him pinned there. Steve gave a choked cry as a cold hand pressed against his neck, choking him just enough to cut off the blood flow to his brain. He struggled to stay conscious as his thrashing became less and less aggressive and his vision began to darken. His last coherent thought was that the fisherman had been right, and that the metal arm pinning him to the ground gave testament to that. The Winter Soldier was real.

The first thing that registered in Steve's mind was the smell of burning wood. He yawned sleepily. He hadn't smelled that in so long, not since…since he had first met Natasha. Steve opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see her, but was instead met with the dark, bug eyes of a face mask.

"Who—" Steve croaked but broke off in a fit of coughing. His throat was burning, and the coughing just agitated it more. The man leaned forwards and pressed a bottle of water to his lips gently, the lenses of his goggles dancing with the flames from the fire. Steve drank thirstily and the man obligingly tipped the bottle upwards. It was too much. Steve choked as water slid down the side of his mouth. Frantically, he tried to wave his hand to say he was done, but found he couldn't move his hands. Steve made a panicked sound, turning his head weakly to the side. The bottle vanished as the man drew back. Steve took a relieved breath, trying weakly to lift his head. He glared up at his attacker as he tried to move his limbs. It took effort, but he was able to push himself up against the wall. The blanket covering him fell down and Steve gasped as he suddenly registered how cold it was.

The man scooted forwards on his knees and held a small plate out to Steve. Steve's plate. The bastard must have gone through his pack. Steve glanced down at the bottle and winced as he realized it was one of the ones Natasha had given him.

Steve's attacker made a frustrated sound and held the plate out again. On it was a piece of fish that, from the slightly blackened look of it, was cooked well. It smelled much better than the nutrient bars Steve had been raised on. He wanted to rip it from the man's hand and devour it, but he settled for flopping his weak hands at his lap and letting the man put it down there.

"Why can't I move?" Steve asked quietly as he tried to pick up a piece of the fish. His eyes narrowed as the fish dropped from his limp fingers back onto the plate. The man hesitated before he slowly reached forwards and touched Steve's neck. Pain rocketed through Steve's body and he gasped as he writhed against the wall in agony. The pain vanished and Steve flexed his hand grinning in relief as he realized he could move again. His eyes slid to the man who was holding the plate of fish. He must have rescued it before Steve had dumped it onto the floor. Steve smiled slowly at him and the man tensed even more before carefully holding the plate of fish out to him. Steve darted to his feet, sending the fish flying as he ran for the light. Something heavy crashed into him and Steve grunted as he tumbled to the floor. His hand landed in the fire and he cried out in agony as he yanked it from the coals, sending them scattering across the floor. Steve thrashed away from his attacker, only managing to get to his knees before a crushing weight landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him and shoving him against the ground.

His attacker rested a knee on the center of his back, keeping him in place as he quickly bound Steve's legs with rope (also from Steve's pack). He carefully avoided Steve's injured hand as he hauled him to his feet and put him down in his former place where a fur blanket was laid out on the ground.

"Let me go!" Steve growled as the man cleaned up the fish and began to push the embers back into place on the cave floor with his metal hand.

Steve gasped as he saw frost begin to close over the place the coals had been. That didn't happen in the desert. He glanced around and his jaw dropped. He had been too busy with his attacker to see his surroundings before, but now he saw them for what they really were. They were in an ice cave, something Steve had only heard of in stories. He looked outside the cave entrance, squinting at the shadows on the horizon. They were mountains, huge and towering over the small cave they were in, and covered with more snow than Steve could ever dream of.

"Where are we?" He asked, glancing at his attacker. The man was slowly nursing the fire back to life with logs from the back of the cave.

The man glanced at him before going to Steve's backpack. He rifled through it for a moment before pulling out Steve's map from the very bottom. He walked back over to Steve and rolled it out on the icy ground, pointing to a spot outlined in the dark red that signified a nuclear cold area. Steve's eyes widened as he glanced back outside at the mountain "But that's a five day journey from the ocean!" He protested, "How long have I been sleeping?"

The man ignored him and stood, throwing the map on the fire and then adding wood until the small flames became a roaring fire. Steve whimpered as the heat touched his burned hand and the man's head snapped in his direction, the lenses of his glasses reflecting the flickering flames.

"There's some burn medicine in my bag," Steve turned his face away from the flames, "could you…" The man nodded and walked over to Steve's pack, pulling the medicine out from one of the pockets. He held out his hand to Steve and for a moment Steve was hesitant. The man's hand was metal, and even now Steve could clearly see the red star on his shoulder. Was he sure he could trust him? If the stories were true this man had killed countless numbers of people.

The man huffed impatiently and seized Steve's arm. Steve hissed as he pressed a delicate finger against the burn mark. It was painful, but it wasn't the worst burn Steve had ever had, he lived in the desert after all. His hand was red and puffy, and blisters were already breaking out across the skin like pockmarks. The man bent down over his hand and began applying the burn medication, his cold metal fingers doing wonders to the burning heat of Steve's hand. When he got to Steve's forearm, he reached up with his flesh and bone hand and traced the space where the letters on Steve's arm had been. They had been covered up by the burn and their outline was barely visible. Steve gasped in pain at his delicate touch and the man stiffened as he jerked his hand away. He hurriedly grabbed the container and scooped some of the green goop onto his fingers, quickly grasping Steve's arm and smearing it across the rest of the burned area. Steve leaned back, distracting himself from the pain by looking at the man's metal arm. It was his left, and there were no letters on it, no marks, simply strips of silver metal.

Steve felt horror well up within him. This man would never know his soul mate, never have the marks on his arm turn gold to confirm what he suspected to be true. Steve could think of no worse horror. Though he hadn't met his soulmate, the letters were still on his arm, and had been for his whole life, which meant his soul mate was alive and there was still the chance of meeting him. It was exciting knowing there was someone out there with Steve's initials on his arm waiting to meet him, someone who wouldn't be disappointed with how he looked, or mind the burden he could be when he was sick.

Steve glanced down at his own marks, now rendered unintelligible. They would heal, and the marks would be there again. He would just have to hope he didn't meet whoever the initials J.B.B belonged to before they did.

The man began to bind his hand with gauze from Steve's pack, careful to avoid touching the injured area. Steve sighed in relief as the pain abated some. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed the unmarked part of the man's arm. The man froze and Steve drew his hand back quickly. Slowly, the man reached out with his metal hand and took Steve's left hand, touching his fingers to the bindings. "J.B.B." Steve offered and the man raised his head to look at Steve. "Do you know yours?"

The man shook his head as he stood and walked to the cave opening. Steve didn't know if that meant he didn't know, or it didn't matter. If the man truly was the Winter Soldier, it could be possible his soulmate had died during the war, or while he had been frozen.

Steve sighed as he leaned forwards to peer past the soldier into the icy gloom outside. It was starting to snow heavily, and Steve hoped they had enough firewood to last the night. Sometimes, if one was lucky, they could find trees at the edges of the cold zones. They were never big ones, but they were big enough to provide firewood if one knew how to harvest the wood right. The man must have gotten some when they began traveling into the cold zone.

Steve tensed as the man turned away from the falling snow and began to approach him. He curled his hands ito fists, ready to fight if need be, though he knew it was hopeless. He wasn't big enough to fight him off if the man decided to kill him, and his legs were bound, making the odds even worse.

The man stopped short of Steve and bent down, pulling Steve's bag towards him. He reached inside, shuffling around a bit before a frustrated sound escaped him and he yanked the bag open. Steve craned his neck to see what he was looking for, relaxing as the man pulled a nutrient bar from the very bottom. The man stood, unwrapping it quickly and handing it to Steve. By now, Steve was beginning to alter his first impression of the man. He was fast and deadly, Steve had experienced that first hand, but he didn't seem to want to harm him.

"Sorry about the fish," Steve said quietly as he bit into the gooey bar. The man hesitated before he sat down next to Steve. He shrugged, as if to say it didn't matter. Steve sighed as he finished his nutrient bar off regretfully. They didn't taste good, but they were food and Steve was still hungry. He eyed the bar the man was holding warily, it wasn't one of his. Instead of being a dark purple it was a mottled brown and looked even more unappetizing than his own. The man kept the nutrient bar clasped in his hand, though he seemed not to want to remove his mask to eat it.

"What's your name?" Steve asked, and when the man didn't reply Steve wiggled forwards so he was facing him. He gestured to his tied legs beseechingly. "Where would I go?" He asked. The man hesitated, and for a moment Steve didn't think he was going to do it. Ever so slowly, the man reached out, untying the rope and letting it fall to the ground. Steve crossed his legs under him, ready to run if it looked like the man was going to hurt him. The man shifted uncomfortably, peering down at the nutrient bar in his hand. Steve took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and reached out slowly, his hand brushing against the man's soft hair as he searched for the clasp to his goggles. His fingers hit something hard and he touched a button, pressing hard until the goggles loosened. The man didn't move as they came free. Steve smiled and slowly undid the mask, pulling it away to reveal the man's face.

He was beautiful. Steve's fingers itched to draw him. His rounded features were accented with high cheekbones, his lips thin but a pretty shade of red. What stood out most were his eyes. They were a light blue that oddly offset the rest of his features.

"What's your name?" Steve asked.

"Bucky," the man whispered. His voice was harsh; he had to clear his throat a few more times before he could speak again, this time with more strength. "My name is Bucky."

Steve smiled, "I'm Steve."

Bucky's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"Why did you kidnap me?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked at him quizzically. "Kidnap you?" Steve nodded, hoping to god Bucky didn't freak out or try to kill him. Bucky frowned, but then nodded slowly in understanding. "I thought you were Hydra," he said, clearing his throat once before he continued, "and I couldn't leave you there unconscious in the cold. Hydra could find you, and then they would know I had been there."

Hydra? Steve frowned. Everyone knew Hydra was dead. This guy was crazy. Unless he's the Winter Soldier, nagged a voice in the back of Steve's mind, then it wouldn't be so crazy. Steve shook his head, banishing the voice. "Why did you keep me from running?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed, "There are drones out there right now looking for me. They would have seen you. They might already know you're with me. I'll escort you to the nearest city and leave you there, where it's safe." His eyes narrowed, "And if you tell anyone about me..."

Steve nodded firmly, "It's a deal."

Bucky stood and walked back to the cave entrance, staring out into the blizzard. "Good." He said, "I would hate to have to kill you."


	3. Chapter Three

"Steve."

Steve groaned as a cold hand shook his shoulder.

"Steve! We need to go."

Steve blinked his eyes open groggily and squinted at Bucky. "Why?" he groaned, peering around the cavern. The fire was burning merrily in the corner, snow was drifting down from the sky in thick droves. Steve almost thought it was beautiful. The wind blew the snow into dancing shapes that resembled everything from dancing figures to misshapen trees. Cold trees. Steve yawned as he buried his head back into the blankets. Everything seemed alright, and the blanket was warm.

"Hydra."

"Wha?" Steve slurred.

"We need to go," was all Bucky would say before he yanked the blanket away. Steve flinched and scrambled to his feet, lunging for the jacket lying on his pack. Bucky snorted and began throwing snow over the cavern floor. He made sure to especially cover the fire until it was lost in two feet of fluffy snow.

Steve huffed unhappily and began folding the blanket he had been using—a big heavy fur cloak that he could wrap twice around himself if he really tried. It was probably Bucky's coat.

Steve picked up his backpack and stuffed the blanket inside. "You ready?" He turned back to Bucky. The soldier was eyeing him warily, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

"Are you going to try to run?"

Steve shook his head, "I don't know the territory, and you already said you were going to leave me at the nearest city. What would I gain from running?"

"I'm a monster."

"Everyone's a monster in this day and age. You didn't kill me when you could have, that makes you better than most."

Bucky didn't say anything, but his shoulders slumped and tension leaked from his body. He pulled his own bag—a long canvas monster that looked more like it carried a gun than Steve was comfortable with—over his shoulder. Steve watched warily as he put his face mask and the glasses back on and stepped into the white expanse outside of the cave.

They traveled for three days straight. The whole time Bucky gave no indication why they were fleeing across the frozen landscape except to look at the sky every few moments and quicken his pace whenever he saw something he didn't like. Bucky pushed Steve forwards when the asthmatic couldn't run anymore. Something in Bucky's tone, the urgent fear in every inch of his body made Steve push himself when he otherwise would have decided to rest. On the third day it became too much. He collapsed into the snow.

"We have to make camp," he insisted. Bucky glanced back at him then circled back.

"Get up," he said coldly.

"No!" Steve snapped. Part of him expected Bucky to leave him there, but the soldier bent down and pulled Steve's pack from him, hoisting it over his own shoulder.

"Hydra will find us if we stay here."

Steve threw his hands in the air, "Hydra's dead! Let me sleep!"

Bucky didn't move and Steve glared defiantly at him. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of anything that looked like Hydra since they had left, and he was seriously doubting that the organization existed.

"Very well," Bucky said suddenly.

"Great," Steve sighed in relief, "the thermopack's in the—" The most unflattering yelp possible escaped Steve as Bucky leaned down and hauled Steve into his arms.

"Let me down!" Steve growled. Bucky said nothing, only continued to walk. Nothing Steve did or said could stop him and finally he gave up, going limp and resting his head sleepily against Bucky's arm.

They got to the border of the cold zone on the fourth day and Bucky made camp for a night in a collapsible shelter he had in his pack. The next morning he woke Steve before the sun had even risen and made him lead Bucky to the nearest path.

Bucky seemed even more nervous now they were in the desolate, mountainless plain of the desert. He glanced up at the sky every few moments and when Steve asked if they could stop for lunch he tossed a nutrient bar at him. It was almost nine before Steve could convince Bucky to stop. While it was hot, the temperatures were still low this close to the cold area. Steve knew that the farther away they got, the hotter it would become, and by noon even the supposed super soldier wouldn't be able to keep going. Steve knew he would be long gone before then.

"Bucky," Steve stopped walking when the super soldier refused to stop. Bucky paused and turned to look back at him, his eyes narrowed dangerously. He had long since taken off the mask and the glasses when the heat had become overwhelming, and Steve almost wished he would put them back on. The soldier was beautiful, and Steve knew if he asked, Steve would keep walking until he melted. Thankfully, Bucky didn't seem to know how to ask.

"Steve…" Bucky was eyeing him warily, "we need to keep walking."

"It's going to get really hot soon, and I don't feel like getting baked in my own skin—and I'm not going to let you carry me." The last few words were snapped out as Bucky stepped towards him. Steve stepped backwards, "And I don't think you want that metal arm burning off your shoulder either." Steve narrowed his eyes defiantly and crossed his arms in the very picture of stubbornness. Bucky gave him an exasperated look.

"We need to stay here until the heat waves are over." Steve pulled his backpack from his shoulders and pulled his thermopack from it, keeping Bucky in the corner of his gaze in case the super soldier decided to pick him up without his consent. Steve laid the pack out on the ground and quickly dove into it headfirst, taking his backpack with him.

Bucky's metal hand closed around Steve's ankle in a vise like grip and he gave an undignified squawk as he was pulled forcibly out of the thermopack. "We need to keep walking," Bucky snapped through gritted teeth. Steve patted his clothes to get rid of the red dirt ingrained in them, trying to keep his temper in check.

"I don't want to die!" Steve darted back into the thermopack and tucked his legs against him to make sure Bucky couldn't get to him without getting in himself.

Bucky sighed and Steve winced as he felt something hit the thermos pack. It sounded like dirt and Steve wondered for a moment if Buck intended to bury him alive. Then something was pressing against Steve's legs and Bucky was sliding into the thermopack next to Steve. Steve gave a sigh of relief as the super soldier rolled over and zipped the entrance shut.

"You better be right about the heat," the soldier growled and Steve smiled. If only he knew.

Bucky tried to roll over, grunting as his legs tangled with Steve's and he was suddenly pressed chest to chest against the smaller man. Steve smiled awkwardly as Bucky stared down at him, his eyes narrowed unhappily. Steve could feel every bump and curve in Bucky's body and to his horror his mind began to wander towards how much he would love to draw Bucky...preferably nude. It would certainly be a challenge to define all of those rippling muscles…

Steve cleared his throat awkwardly as he tore his mind from the subject. Bucky shifted awkwardly against Steve and pulled back a little, trying to make room for both of them. Steve was sure he was blushing, and it only added to his humiliation.

"How long?" Bucky asked in a monotone, crushing himself into the corner of the pack. Steve could just make him out from the light that shone through the cloth from outside.

"A few hours," he muttered unhappily.

Bucky groaned and rolled over onto his side so his back was facing Steve. "We better get some sleep then," he muttered and Steve sighed as he rolled on to his side, facing away from Bucky.

"Right," he muttered as something that sounded like a snore drifted from Bucky's side, "sleep." He couldn't remember when he drifted off, but he most certainly remembered waking up.

Unlike the last few days, Steve woke up slowly. His eyes fluttered open sleepily and he smiled as he snuggled back against his pillow. It certainly was a comfortable pillow, a little soft…but hard underneath and every so often it would rise and fall…

Steve's eyes flew open and he jerked away from his pillow—a rather loudly snoring super soldier—and slammed into the side of the thermopack. An awful ripping sound rent the air and Steve suddenly found himself on his back in the dry dust with half his body lying on the hard rock and the other half on the nice, cushy inside of the pack.

Bucky looked out of the gap and frowned as he crawled out and stood, taking both his bag and Steve's with him.

"It's ruined!" Steve scrambled forwards and gently touched the ragged edge. He cursed himself bitterly. Damn reflexes, damn attractive pillows, damn the goddamned Winter Soldier!

"We need to go," Bucky's looked up at the starlit sky and Steve sighed unhappily as he stood and bundled the torn thermopack into his bag. There would be no mending it now, he didn't have the supplies and even if he did, it would never work as well as it did before.

"There is a small trading post not far from here, if your map was correct," Bucky said as Steve fished through his pack and handed him a nutrient bar. "If we start now, we should be able to get there before the heat kicks in."

Steve pulled out his own nutrient bar and bit into it unhappily. His throat was burning from the lack of water, and though the nutrient bars kept them hydrated enough for functioning, it still wasn't as good as the real thing. He still had a canteen and a half left from the water Natasha had given him, and for a moment it was tempting to drink it. Steve pushed the thought away, grumbling to himself. They said you drink it once and you were addicted for life, the clear headed feeling and the energy it gave you. But water was expensive, and better used to barter for food and clothes. Steve didn't need it.

They walked for the rest of the night and into the morning. Bucky strapped his mask back on and let Steve lead for most of the time. They reached the trading post before the worst of the heat set in. A single red flag signaled where it was. Under the flag was a small, half melted metal door.

"We'll have to wait here until the heat goes down," Steve reminded Bucky as the soldier lifted it up. Bucky grunted unhappily but nodded to show he agreed. Under the door was a ladder and under that another metal door and another ladder. The bottom was a long dark tunnel that lead to another door.

"These outposts can be more dangerous than the city," Steve warned Bucky as he drew his knife, "stay close to me, and keep an eye on your valuables." Bucky's metal hand went to his bag and his other hand tightened into a fist. Steve hesitated, his eyes on Bucky's arm. Everyone knew the symbol of that arm…of the Winter Soldier. Steve sighed as he reached into his backpack and pulled out the jacket he had bought for cold weather.

"Keep this on," he said, "and keep your left hand in the pocket. We don't want anyone getting the wrong idea about you." Bucky nodded and did as Steve said before they started down the darkened hallway. Voices began to echo through the hallway as people passed them. To Steve's relief, they seemed friendly enough and he quickly sheathed his knife and put it back in his pocket. Steve stopped one of the more friendly looking women and asked directions to the tinkers shop.

"Two doors down and a right," the woman said and Steve nodded his thanks as he turned to go. "And make sure you know what you want and for how much," the woman called after him, "'cause she'll try to rip you off for twice the price!" The door was right where the woman said it was and Steve made Bucky wait outside to watch the hallway as he went in. The soldier had seemed tense simply passing people in the hallway, he didn't want to know how he would react to actually talking to one.

"Hello?" Steve called into the dusty shop, "Anyone here?"

"I'm here," a woman appeared from the back of the store and smiled at Steve, revealing grimy, broken teeth, "Can I help you?"

"I need a new thermopack," Steve sighed as he pulled his old pack from his bag and shoved it onto the glass counter.

"What happened to this one?" the tinker asked as she ran her hand over the rent in the fabric. The door opened and Bucky stepped inside, his head turning from Steve to the woman before he stepped back outside and closed the door.

"Oh," the woman gave Steve a knowing look, "burning time then?" She cackled and turned away, "I don't blame you." She hesitated as she stepped into the back room, "two person or one?"

Steve hesitated. While he wasn't keen on sharing a thermopack with Bucky again, he couldn't afford two single thermopacks without spending water, and he didn't dare take out the bottles at a place like this.

"One two person," he said and the woman nodded as she vanished into the back room. The door opened and Bucky came back in, closing it carefully behind him before he stalked over to Steve. He peeked down every aisle as he walked, as if an unknown assailant might be waiting to attack him behind the shelves.

"We're going to have to share again," Steve sighed as the soldier reached him, "I can't afford two one person packs. The good news is this one will probably be a lot roomier than the last." Which means I'm a lot less likely to try to use you as a bed accessory while you're sleeping, Steve thought gratefully. Bucky tilted his head curiously, as if he could tell what Steve was thinking.

The tinker came out of the back room, clutching a rolled up thermopack. "I'll give you a deal for it with trade for the broken one," she set it down next to Steve's old one. "Two fifty."

Steve's eyebrows flew up, "The going price for a double without trade is one thirty."

"Well, you're here now," the woman smirked at him. "Two fifty."

"One thirty," Steve said firmly, "and don't pretend you can't use the broken one's materials."

The woman scowled, "Two."

Steve crossed his arms, "One forty five."

The woman cackled, "You're crazy, and let me tell you, you need this a lot more than I need to sell it."

Steve opened his mouth to negotiate, but before he could, Bucky grabbed the woman and hauled her over the counter with an earsplitting crack. "Bucky!" Steve grabbed Bucky's shirt, "Stop! Let her go!"

Bucky's grip tightened on the woman and she screeched, "Okay! One thirty, one thirty!"

Bucky released her and she scrambled back across the counter, no worse for wear, but terrified out of her wits. Bucky cupped his arm where it had slammed into the glass. Where he had hit the glass there was a huge crack that ranged across the whole pane. Bucky himself was sporting a rather jagged cut in his forearm and was trying desperately not to get blood on the ground.

"I am so sorry," Steve said as he reached into his pocket and began pulling out the money. "I picked him up in the wilderness, he hasn't been around people in a very long time." He piled the coins onto the table and pushed them towards her, "You can keep the change."

The woman looked at the pile and nodded hurriedly as she pushed the thermopack towards them and wiped the coins into her hand. Bucky waited until she vanished into the back room before he turned to Steve. Even through the mask Steve could tell he was glaring at him.

"You gave her more than she originally asked for."

"You can't go harming people because you can, Buck!" Steve snapped at him, his fists balled up in rage, "It's not right!"

Bucky's voice came from behind the mask, "She was trying to take advantage of you."

Steve raised his chin angrily. "She was trying to make a living! It's called negotiating!" He turned and stalked towards the doorway, stuffing his new thermopack into his bag. "We don't hurt dames, Buck. The end."

Bucky muttered something that sounded faintly sacrilegious as he followed Steve into the hallway, but Steve was too furious to try to figure out what it was. Bucky walked quietly behind Steve, his head down and cupping his wounded arm without any sign of pain.

By the time they reached the apothecary, Steve had calmed down enough to show the apothecary his hand and get some bandages for Bucky's arm without losing his temper again. Bucky waited outside as Steve finished his purchases. When Steve came out, he followed at what he judged to be a safe distance, in case the blond decided to get angry again.

"Bucky," Steve waved him over as they entered the bar, the soldier walked over to him carefully. To Steve's surprise, Bucky seemed almost like a sulky child. "It's okay," Steve said soothingly and Bucky straightened, "You just can't do that again, okay? You're pretty scary when you want to be, and you almost hurt her." Steve pushed the bandages and disinfectant over to where Bucky was standing, "Can you take care of that?" He nodded to the cut on Bucky's arm.

Bucky said nothing as he began cleaning the cut. Steve turned back to the bartender, who didn't look surprised in the least bit that a heavily muscled, shady looking character, dressed in black, with a hand made of silver was cleaning a cut on his arm. It probably happened a lot. Steve frowned as he did the math for the rations they would need. Two weeks to New York, half that to the nearest city if they continued at the pace they were at. Steve sighed as he turned to the bartender and ordered fourteen nutrient bars. One every day for each of them and they should be fine.

"These are old," the bartender warned as he put the white wrapped ingots on the table. "They'll only last a month or so. Our new shipment comes in tomorrow if you want to wait…"

"It'll be fine," Steve assured him as he traded the bars for the gold. "Thanks for the warning though."

The bartender nodded, "You want some booze?"

Steve shook his head, "Bucky here's a lightweight, and we need to leave before sundown." He patted Bucky on the back, expecting Bucky to scowl at him. Bucky flinched, his hand jerking away from the handle of his knife. He looked at the bartender and then Steve, seemingly mystified. It was clear he hadn't been paying attention and Steve looked over to see what had been occupying his mind. There was nothing, just people going about their business.

"He doesn't look a lightweight," the bartender chuckled and Steve smiled back as he tapped Bucky on the shoulder and gestured for them to go to one of the tables. Bucky picked one wedged in the back, sitting down in a chair that gave him the best vantage point of the room.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked quietly, "Do you so see something?" Bucky shook his head as he began flipping his knife in his fingers, his eyes on the rest of the room.

Steve sighed as he rested his head against the cool tabletop. "Have you actually seen Hydra?" He demanded. He didn't know why he asked, he knew the answer. Steve glanced up as the soldier turned his head towards him. His glasses reminding Steve of the pits of oil he had once seen in California before the frost had taken it over. No one dug there anymore, but the oil still bubbled up from the surface to pool in dark lakes. It was a sight to behold if you didn't get too close. At the edge of the lakes were hundreds of dead animals that had drowned or got caught in the ooze.

"You don't know if they are actually real, do you?" Steve pressed on, "Do you know about the ice? Why it's so suddenly growing? How did you survive out there with only a blanket and the gun?"

Bucky tensed and Steve scowled, "And don't say you have food in that beast of a bag, I've seen the inside of it. You have a freaking massive gun, a few blankets, a canteen and some other weird stuff, but no food."

Bucky's left hand tightened into a fist and Steve leaned back, away from him. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't. "What is Hydra? You can't mean the organization, Shield dealt with them long ago. Are they making a comeback?"

Bucky stood suddenly, his chair scraping back as the soldier looked down at Steve. "Stop asking questions that you don't want to know the answer to," Bucky snarled, his voice slightly muffled through the mask before he turned away and stalked out of the room.

He was waiting for Steve at the exit when the sun began to sink.

"I thought you left," Steve said. Bucky said nothing as he pushed open the door.

That night was longer than normal. When Bucky calmed down enough to talk, he told Steve this was a sign that winter was coming. Steve didn't mind, winter simply meant an extra few hours of travel. Nothing that really mattered. If it actually rained, Steve would be overjoyed, but as it was, all the rain they got was irradiated and only served to poison the planet further.

They walked until the horizon began to glow. Steve laid out the thermopack, expecting to have to argue with Bucky again, but the soldier got in without complaint and was snoring by the time Steve zipped the pack closed.


	4. Chapter Four

The air burned as Steve took a deep breath. His feet padded quietly against the frozen ground as he tightened his sweaty grip on his shield. Low voices were echoing from the cavern in front of him and he looked around the ice cave warily. Something cold touched the back of his head and he tensed.

"Drop the shield."

Steve froze as he felt the muzzle of a gun press into the back of his skull. He raised his hands and let his shield fall to the ground. Metal flashed in the faint light coming from the opening of the cave and Bucky moved around Steve to face him, the gun still locked in his grip.

"Captain," came an unfamiliar voice.

The man was standing behind Bucky. His hands were tucked in his suit's pockets, his face betraying no emotion. "Are you here to kill me?"

"I'm here to bring you in," Steve clenched his hands into fists. "Fury can decide your fate."

"Fury will kill me," the man spread his hands on either side of him, as if pleading with Steve to understand. "Is that what you want, Captain?"

"Come peacefully and—" Steve stepped forwards and his breath caught as pain bloomed in his chest. Bucky's hair brushed his cheek as the assassin leaned forwards. "Why couldn't you let it be?" he whispered. His hand tore from Steve's chest, splashing a trail of scarlet blood across the floor. Steve tumbled to the ground, blood seeping from the hole in his chest. He stared at Bucky, blood dripping from his lips. His breath was labored and he felt as if liquid was filling his lungs. Maybe it was.  
The man stepped up behind Bucky and rested a hand on his shoulder. His eyes narrowed slyly as he whispered something in Bucky's ear. Steve gasped for air as Bucky tensed and looked down at him. His eyes were cold and unfeeling, but for just a moment something akin to regret flickered through his eyes. Steve's eyes began to close and for a moment the light glinted off of Bucky's arm and the blood looked like marks, but then it was gone, and Steve with it.

Steve jerked awake. He sat up, gasping for air as he rubbed his chest firmly. He hoped this wasn't an asthma attack; he had to stop buying inhaler medicine after it became too expensive, and without it...

The pain eased with every breath he took and Steve leaned back down, only to jerk back as he realized he had been using Bucky as a pillow again. It had to be the height difference, he decided. Bucky was a little taller than him and his chest was a somewhat comfortable pillow, or at least, more comfortable than the ground. Yeah, that was it.  
Steve sighed and banished that train of thought as he began to edge off Bucky's chest. Bucky muttered something in his sleep and wrapped his metal arm around Steve, drawing him closer and throwing his heavy arm over Steve's shoulders. Steve scowled and elbowed Bucky in the ribs. Maybe the pillow thing wasn't his fault after all. Bucky snorted loudly and grumbled something. For a moment Steve thought he was going to wake up, but he just began to snore loudly in Steve's ear in a way that really shouldn't have been endearing.

Steve groaned and pushed the thought away. This was getting ridiculous. He turned his mind back to his dream…what had it been about? He remembered cold…pain…the flash of metal. Steve gave up, it probably wasn't that important anyway.

Irritated with himself, and now with Bucky as well for smothering him, Steve pushed away from Bucky roughly, jabbing him in the chest with his bony elbows. If he reached, he could just brush his fingers against the zipper of the pack. A little more distance and…Bucky muttered something under his breath and pulled him closer, letting out a soft snort. Steve grumbled under his breath as his hand was jerked away from the opening. Was this how he was going to die? Suffocated to death by a sleeping supposed super soldier? What were they going to put on his tombstone? He could just picture Natasha snickering with Barton over it.

Steve Rogers. Cuddled to death by the Winter Soldier. RIP.

Steve frowned distractedly as Bucky shifted again. He was muttering in Russian under his breath, his face creased in pain. Was Bucky supposed to be this warm? Steve was cold where his skin was exposed to the air, but Bucky was burning to the touch. He frowned as he rested his head against Bucky's forehead, and then his own.

"Buck!" Steve snapped as the super soldier muttered something in his sleep.

"Steve," Bucky grunted, his eyes opening blearily. "Don't…"

"Don't what?" Steve asked as he pushed away from Bucky. "Let me go!"

"No." Bucky caught his hands, his eyes still half closed, "Stop!"

Steve frowned, "I'm just going to look outside—"

Bucky's eyes flew open and before Steve could blink, Bucky had him pinned to the ground, his hand pressing down on his neck. Bucky's eyes were furious. Wild. He snarled as Steve struggled frantically against his grip. Steve gasped for air, lashing out at the soldier with everything he could think of. He struck out at Bucky's face, catching Bucky's cheek as the soldier turned his face away. Bucky tightened his grip on his neck with one hand as he caught Steve's hands and pressed them over his head with the other. Steve kicked out at him and Bucky growled as he straddled him and began to squeeze his neck tighter. Steve gasped as black began to tinge the edges of his vision. At least this was better than being smothered to death via cuddling, he thought blearily, though he wouldn't put it past Natasha to put it on his tombstone anyway.

"Buck—" Steve choked out. Bucky tightened his grip and suddenly Steve couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.

"You…can't...hurt…them!" Bucky hissed out. "I won't let you!" He let go of Steve's neck and drew his fist back. The muted light shining through the thermopack walls glinted off the metal and Steve knew he wouldn't survive if Bucky hit him.

"Buck!" Steve yelled, "Stop!" Bucky froze and Steve gasped for air frantically. Bucky gritted his teeth against the battle waging within him. Kill. Don't kill. With a gasp, he fell back against the wall of the tent. Steve scrambled back, away from him.

"It's…you." Bucky slumped against the floor of the thermopack, his chest heaving. "You're Steve."

"Who did you think it was?" Steve raised his hand to his throat, wincing as his gentle touch roused a sharp stab of pain. "What happened?" His voice came out as a rasp and he winced.

Bucky said nothing as he unzipped the entrance and scrambled outside. Steve gasped as a burst of cold air hit his face. Through the opening he could see the sky. It was cloudy and overcast in a way he never seen before. Steve frowned as he climbed out of the thermopack. The ground crunched under his feet and he bent down to touch it. "This wasn't here last night. " Steve brushed his fingers over the cold ground. It was frozen solid. The ice was so cold it hurt his fingers and he drew them back quickly. "The ice…it's traveling." Steve rose to his feet and looked back, over the path they had traveled. In the distance he could see white splashed across the path, and beyond that a huge expanse of cold snow. It was beautiful, but terrifying, like an angry artist had used the land as his canvas.

"It's Hydra." Bucky's voice was quiet. Steve turned towards him as he stood, wiping his hand on his pants. "They're causing this."

"I doubt anyone could cause a natural disaster," Steve said comfortingly, clearing his throat when his voice came out rough and wincing when the simple action send stabbing pain through the sore skin of his neck. "It's probably just because winters coming. Maybe the radiation is dying down and the seasons are returning."  
Bucky gave him a long look, and even Steve could hear the desperation in his own voice. "It's not Hydra," Steve repeated. Bucky said nothing as he turned back and began rolling up the thermopack.

"We have to hurry," Bucky said quietly, "there's no shelter here if a storm hits us. Or if…" He looked up and froze. Steve turned, scanning the sky for some sign of what had made the soldier look like a mouse before a cat.

At first, there was nothing. A low boom of thunder in the sky accompanying a flash of vivid lightning, the sound of the wind howling through the empty plain around them. Then, Steve saw it. A small dot on the sky, tiny but recognizable.

"It's a chopper," he breathed and Bucky seized his arm.

"We have to go!" He growled.

Steve shot one last fearful look at the chopper before following Bucky off the path. The plain was empty and desolate, with no cover to be seen.

"Why don't we stay in the thermopack?" Steve demanded, wincing in pain as his throat burned. There was no way they could survive if they kept going. "We can throw dirt over it and camouflage ourselves while it passes."

"Heat sensors," Bucky grunted, quickening his pace, "they'll see us."

"We'll be dismissed as travelers!" Steve protested.

"They're looking for me," Bucky muttered. "They know I'm here. They'll search anyone they see."

"Where are we going then?" Steve protested. Bucky nodded his chin forwards and Steve peered at the horizon. In the distance, he could just see a blot on the horizon.

"It's a Shield base," Bucky said, "it was on your map."

"We'll never make it," Steve whispered. Bucky didn't say anything, only quickened his pace.

By some miracle, the chopper didn't spot them immediately. With every step they took, it grew darker. Clouds blotted out the sun, and small flecks of cold rain began to fall from the sky. Steve frowned as he saw the rain. Bucky quickened his pace, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Then came the storm.

Steve had seen storms before, violent, radioactive, monsters of storms, but never like this. It started as a downpour of freezing rain with thunder booming above them and lightning clashing violently through the sky, and sometimes beside them. Then came the snow, piles of it flying down from the heavens like angels were throwing buckets of the stuff all down at once. The chopper valiantly kept going through the storm, but was slowed by the heavy winds and snow.

"Where's the entrance?" Steve asked through chattering teeth. All he saw before him were a few big rocks. Bucky frantically began searching over the rocks for an entrance, and Steve felt his heart sink as he realized there was no door. He stepped forward and knelt against the nearest rock, trying to shield himself from the majority of the snow. He sighed as he rested his head against the rock tiredly. He was so cold. Something hard scraped across his cheek and he flinched back. He reached up and touched the dot of blood on the side of his cheek. What was that? He felt at the rough patch blindly, squinting at the rock through the flurries of snow. It felt like someone had scraped something into the rock. But for what reason? Before he could look further, Bucky came back, shaking his head and glancing at the sky nervously.

"I can keep going," he said as he stepped forward, but Steve raised his hand as he squinted at the rock. The scratches looked familiar…almost like a bird.

"Look here!" He called over the raging storm and Bucky stepped over, his eyes narrowed as Steve gestured to the rock. "Can you move it?"

Bucky nodded. He pushed past Steve and rested his hands on the side of the boulder. His breath misted out into the air as he tensed and with a groan the boulder began to move. Steve's breath caught as he saw darkness behind it. Steve hurried into it and Bucky hurried after him, pushing the rock back into place.

"Whoops," Bucky muttered and Steve arched an eyebrow as he looked back. Bucky was biting his lip nervously and kicking at a few broken pieces of metal stemming from the stone. "It was supposed to just open, I guess. Do you think they'll mind?"

Steve chuckled, "I doubt anyone will notice."

Bucky bent down and squished the metal back into place easily. Steve rolled his eyes, "It won't work again."

"This way they won't blame me," Bucky smirked. "They'll have no proof."

"I think the squished metal might give them a hint," Steve remarked mildly and Bucky scowled at him.

The pathway sloped downwards for a very long time. Steve trailed his fingers across the wall. He couldn't see anything, but Bucky seemed to know where they were going. Steve yawned tiredly and blinked, wishing he could see something.

"How long is this tunnel?" He asked. Bucky touched his arm, pushing enough that Steve got the hint he should stop walking. There was a soft crack and the whole cave was painted with a soft green light. Steve blinked and glanced over at Bucky, who was holding a glow stick. "You couldn't use that earlier?" He demanded. Bucky ignored him in favor of looking around the small cave.

The cave was circular at the end, like a sideways bowl. It was natural, maybe from years of flooding in the area—the heated, radiated rain they got once a year usually did create floods in the bone dry land—but up against one side of the wall were boxes, and next to them battery powered lamps. On the ceiling was the emblem of the Shield logo. Steve craned his head back to look at it. It looked a lot like the scratches Steve had seen on the rock above them.

Bucky put down his pack and began rifling through the boxes and tapping on the walls, presumably making sure they actually were safe. Steve moved to the lamps, nodding his thanks as Bucky handed him two batteries from the boxes. Steve squinted at the small holes in the bottom, growling in frustration as he blinked at the small signs. Taking a random guess, he put the batteries in and flicked the switch.

Nothing happened.

Cursing, Steve pulled out the batteries and flipped them, hoping that would work. Light erupted from the small globe and he yelped as pain shot through his eyes. Bucky glanced over nervously, but Steve shook his head, "I'm fine." He put the lamp down on the ground. "Find anything?"

Bucky frowned as he finished going through the last box and held up a white version of Steve's golden thermopack.

"Is it for the cold?" Steve asked and Bucky nodded, holding up a detailed map of various cold zones from the box.

Steve shifted uncomfortably; why would Shield need those? There was nothing in those areas. He walked over and picked up one of the maps. Moscow was labeled at the top. He frowned as he looked it over. For that matter, why would they need a map of Russia? He filed the information away. Whatever it was, he could ask Natasha. If she didn't tell him, he would know it was something serious. If she did tell him, and it wasn't something serious, he would know she was lying.

Bucky repacked the box, leaving the cold thermopack out of the box, along with some dried fruit he had found. He didn't look happy about something, but Steve was to cold and tired to care. He rolled out his own thermopack and laid Bucky's blanket on it to make a makeshift bed, then he laid out the cold thermopack.

"Steve." Bucky walked over to him and handed him a packet of dried fruit and a nutrient bar. Steve ate the bar first before he cautiously tore open the fruit pack. Having seen Bucky already give everything in the room a full examination, Steve didn't feel too worried as he popped a piece of dried strawberry into his mouth.

Steve groaned as the flavor exploded in his mouth and immediately set about devouring the rest of the package. When he was done, he reached over and snagged another from the pile next to Bucky. Bucky huffed and pulled the pile into his lap, glaring furiously at Steve.

Steve reached over and took another bag from his lap.

They ate in silence. Bucky finally gave in and handed Steve some of his fruit packages. Steve was halfway through his eighth one when he realized Bucky was staring at him.  
"What?" He asked, "Is the fruit bad?" Steve choked as one of the pieces of fruit caught in his throat. Pain flared up in his throat and he flinched. It had healed a little since that morning, but now it was aching awfully. Steve winced as he probed the bruised skin tenderly, flinching as it exploded in sharp pain. He cursed himself and put down his packet of fruit, no longer hungry.

Bucky averted his eyes guiltily. "Does it hurt you?" He asked as he stood and walked over to one of the crates.

"Nah, just aches a little." Steve smiled gently as Bucky came back over holding a tube of gel. He squired some into his hand and sat down in front of Steve.

"You should know better than to lie to me," Bucky said quietly, "I can tell it hurts."

Steve flinched as the cold goo touched his skin, but the pain abated somewhat even as Bucky was applying it. Soon his whole throat could feel nothing but the pleasing buzz of numbness.

"What were you dreaming about?" He asked, "This morning?" Bucky shrugged as he stood to go put the gel back. Steve left it alone. He didn't want to risk pushing Bucky, and besides, it wasn't his place.

Steve sighed as he stood and looked down at his sopping clothes. He didn't want to sleep in them, and he couldn't wear them wet anyway. He peeled off his shirt and laid it out on the ground to dry, then did the same with his pants. He frowned as he regarded his soaked backpack. His change of clothes were probably all wet…

"Here."

Steve gasped as Bucky pressed a shirt into his hand. It looked like an undershirt, the kind soldiers wore under their gear, and like Bucky's armor it was black.

"My bag is waterproof." Bucky began stripping off his wet combat gear. "Everything is dry." Steve stared at Bucky. The soldier had never taken off his gear in Steve's view before, never even removed a glove. Bucky silently stripped off his over shirt and began pulling knives out of hidden pockets and guns out of nowhere. A small pile was already at his feet. How the hell had he fit all those things in his gear?

"Must be nice." Steve tore his eyes away as he pulled the shirt over his head, "I suppose having a waterproof bag is necessary with that big gun you carry around." The shirt went down to Steve's knees and he sighed as he tugged at the material uncomfortably.

"What is this made of?" Steve glanced up and his words trailed off in a stutter.

Bucky pulled a knife from his shoe. "See something you like?" He teased.

Steve shook his head. That wasn't what he was staring at, it was the scars. There were more scars than Steve could count, the worst of them around the prosthetic arm. Steve stepped forwards and Bucky tensed. He took another step and Bucky stilled, keeping his back to Steve as he rested his hand against the scarring between the metal and the skin. Bucky played with the knife in his hands and Steve could feel the movements of the metal under his fingers. Bucky looked back at Steve wordlessly and he traced the marks softly with his fingers.

"Did someone do this to you?" He murmured under his breath. "Did they hurt you?"

"Yes." Bucky shifted and his arm clicked under Steve's fingers, "I lost my arm in combat, they gave me a new one. They liked to call me the fist of Hydra." He added the last part with a low chuckle, "Kind of an inside joke."

"Do you know…?" Steve cleared his throat, "Do you know who your initials belong to?"

Bucky stiffened under Steve's hand and pulled away as the smaller man looked up at him. "I did." He turned to face Steve, his face blank of all emotion. His eyes darted down to Steve's bandaged arm and then away. "But whoever they are, they're dead by now." Bucky smirked. "And even if they were still alive, they would be better off without me."

Steve sighed as he looked down at the bandages covering his mark. "I don't know who mine is," he said stiffly, "but if he or she said that to me I would kick their ass for being so presumptuous."

Bucky cracked a smile and turned away from him. "You're cute." He chuckled without humor. Steve scowled. He hated it when people treated him like that, like he was some innocent child who didn't know what kind of evils took place in the world. He knew better than some, but he chose to see the best in people. Was that a crime?  
Bucky's turned away to finish undressing. Steve laid down on the white thermopack and sighed as Bucky turned off the lamp and laid down on his own bed.

"Goodnight, Steve," Bucky murmured.

"Night, Buck."

Steve shuddered as he wrapped the thermopack around his shoulders. It was still cold, and his throat ached. Still, his eyes closed and before he knew it the lines between reality and his thoughts began to blur.

Steve dreamed he and Bucky were sitting in a bar. It was an old styled kind of place, nineteen forties looking. Music blared above them as Bucky sipped his beer in the chair next to Steve. He looked different. Happy.

"You know, Stevie," he drawled over the sound of the music, "I think I like this new place. Cool beer, pleasant company, pretty dames…"

"Of course, you do," Steve teased, "You like any half-decent joint with alcoholic beer." He, himself, wasn't too fond of the place, but Bucky seemed to like it so he stayed.

"Of course you would think a classy place like this is half-decent," Bucky pitched his voice, "Excuse me, I'm Steve Rogers and I'll only taste the best wine and the sharpest cheeses. I dine with Howard Stark every night and never dirty myself with the touch of lowly commoners." He chuckled as Steve punched him in the arm.

"Jerk."

Bucky opened his mouth as if to say something, but then changed his mind and shut it firmly.

Steve shivered and rubbed his arms, "Is it cold to you in here?" He glanced around the bar, but no one else seemed to notice the cold.

Bucky shook his head and leaned forward so he could peel off his army jacket. "Better have my jacket," he smiled as he held it out, "we wouldn't want your punk ass to get sick."

When Steve began to shake his head, Bucky shoved it into his arms. "I'm used to the cold," he said firmly, "take it."

The dream vanished as something warm wrapped around Steve's arms. He blinked open his eyes dazedly as something soft touched his cheek and gently pulled the blanket up around his neck. The wool scratched against his neck as he was sitting in the bar again. This time there were others with them. Men with hats, women in red dresses. Faces flashed blood red in the darkness and Steve clenched his hands into fists as the figures hovered on the edges of the dream, whispering promises of pain and death.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Steve awoke with his head on Bucky's chest.

Again.

He really didn't know how he had managed it this time. It would have involved him someone getting across the freezing stone floor and onto the thermopack, wrapping the blanket around both of them, and then entwining his legs with Bucky's own - while asleep.

Steve winced as he swallowed. The gel must have worn off during the night. He pulled his legs up, untangling them from Bucky's. Then came the hard part; Bucky's metal arm was thrown over him, tucking him effectively against the super soldier's chest. Steve wiggled uncomfortably, shifting downwards. He didn't want to wake Bucky, but after the last time he found himself in this situation he wasn't above it. Steve shifted lower, squeezing out from under Bucky's arm. He held his breath as he waited for Bucky to wake up. The soldier grumbled, shifting in his sleep, but didn't wake. Steve smiled, pushing himself up and padding over to the pile of boxes Bucky had been rummaging through the night before.

"Where are you?" Steve muttered as he opened the box as quietly as he could. Which box had Bucky taken the medicine from? He couldn't remember. Steve shuddered as a breath of cold air made goosebumps break out across his exposed skin. He looked mournfully back at the warm blanket wrapped around Bucky, but as he took a breath, he was quickly reminded why he was there. Steve turned away, irritated with himself for getting distracted. "Where is it?" He growled as he reached the bottom of the box.

"This?"

Steve yelped in surprise, whirling around. Bucky smirked in amusement, holding out the bottle of medicine. Steve sighed in relief as he seized it from Bucky's fingers.

"Where was it?" he asked as he uncapped it and squeezed a generous dollop onto his fingers.

"Your pack," Bucky said calmly, leaning against the stone wall, "I thought you might need it." He watched Steve warily as he applied the goo to his throat, "Does it hurt?"

"Not now," Steve sighed in relief as the pleasant buzz of numbness set in, his eyes flickering shut. He opened them in time to see guilt flash across Bucky's face, though it was gone before he could say anything.

Bucky stepped away from him and returned to the warm comfort of his bed, wrapping the blanket around himself. "Care to join me?" He asked, a note of laughter in his voice.

Steve didn't even dignify that with an answer, though he could feel heat flushing his neck and cheeks red. "Think the storm's over?" He asked instead. Bucky scowled at him grumpily as he pushed off the blanket and vanished into the tunnel leading outside. He reappeared a moment later, shaking his head and stalking back to his bed. Steve watched with amusement as Bucky climbed into the thermopack, taking his blanket with him and leaving it just unzipped enough to stick his head out.

Steve sighed as he returned to the cold thermopack and laid down.  
"So we just wait?" He asked and Bucky nodded, a grim expression on his face as the clunk of hailstones against rock began to sound above them.

The storm lasted for three days. Each day Bucky began to get more and more restless. He began to train with practiced efficiency, lifting himself up using the edge of the cave entrance, doing one armed pushups and a crazy line up of ridiculous exercises Steve couldn't even begin to name.

On the third day, the storm abated enough that they were able to leave. Bucky pushed the rock open easily, ignoring the sound of mutilated metal. Steve grimaced as he saw the layers of snow outside, but Bucky didn't blink an eye, slogging into the thigh high snow as if it were every day that one trudged through snow that went up to Steve's waist. Steve followed in his wake, shivering through the three jackets and one blanket they had managed to scrounge up from the crates. The cold pack came in handy that night, and the next, but by the time they were a day's travel outside the nearest city, they were back to scorching heat and afternoon rests.

"We don't need to buy new rations in the city," Steve sighed as he finished going through his pack, "I think we have enough with the fruit we took from the compound." They were sitting on a high rise off of the path and Steve was taking inventory of what they would need. Bucky grunted, though from pain or acknowledgment, Steve wasn't sure. He pressed his lips together unhappily as Bucky tightened the damp cloth wrapped around his hand. He knew how painful those burns could be, but by the time he had thought to warn Bucky about touching the rocks, the soldier was already cupping his hand against his chest in surprised pain.

"What do we need?" Bucky asked as he made to put his mask back on. Steve watched him hesitantly. He would have to hide Bucky's arm; a jacket would work, but would stand out in the hot environment, not to mention be highly uncomfortable for Bucky.

"New clothes," he marked that down in his notebook as he picked up a water bottle and slowly poured a little more water on the rag wrapped around Bucky's hand. Bucky sighed in relief, slumping gently against his pack, which was braced between him and the rock. Steve had told him the rocks were safe after nightfall, but Bucky didn't seem to believe him. Steve glanced up at him. "You know," he hesitated, avoiding looking at Bucky's eyes, "the city we're going to is only a small part of the ruins of one of the ancient capitals…" He took a deep breath, "Would you be okay if we took a quick stop at the ruins before we head on to New York?"

He flushed. It was the most obscure way he could think of to ask Bucky to come with him. All Bucky had to do if he didn't want to come was correct him. And if he did correct him, and Steve had to travel on without his friend...he didn't want to think past that. He had considered asking Bucky to continue traveling with him flat out, but had discarded the thought immediately. What could Steve offer the soldier? A hard life of traveling through a desert that got more inhospitable every day? Bucky was better off working for Shield, or doing whatever he was planning to do at that point. Still, Steve selfishly couldn't help but try.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably and Steve hurried on, eager to drop the subject. "The whole place is a maze of collapsed metal, and the further in we go, the less people there are, if that's what you're worried about. It would be quick…just a few hours." Bucky hesitated before giving a sharp nod.

Steve nodded and turned back to his list, hiding a relieved smile. He marked down some more items they would need. A glow stick, fire starters, burn medicine, and more winter clothes, for starters. He could have simply taken them from the Shield base, but it hadn't felt right and he had only wanted to take what was absolutely necessary for the trip to the city. Steve added a few more things to the list, frowning as he estimated the cost. They would need to go into the ruins anyway if they were going to afford this stuff. The most expensive thing would be the clothes for Bucky. They would have to light and airy enough to go unnoticed, but solid enough to hide the metal arm.

They traveled to the city in silence, Bucky wearing the mask and Steve's coat to mask his face and arms. At Steve's insistence, he tied his hair back in a bun with a strip of cloth taken from one of Steve's undershirts. It made for quite the odd picture, and Steve hoped they would be able to get the clothes quickly. The city was much smaller than New York, but still housed a sizable population of five hundred or so. Additionally, it was a place used by many travelers like Steve as a safe haven to resupply themselves and rest for the day. The city should have a decent tailor at least, along with selling the basic things they needed.

Steve let out a breath of relief as they stepped into the confines of the city walls. This was a safest place they could be right now, or at least it was much safer than walking around with nothing to cover them for miles. Bucky had the opposite reaction: he stiffened and kept his hand on his belt where the handle of a knife protruded. It probably didn't help that people kept giving them curious looks and whispering to each other.

Steve made his first destination the tailor's.

It only took them half an hour to find the place, a small stone building with shelves on all of the walls. Each shelf housed rolls of cloth with various colors and textures. Steve tore his attention away from them as the tailor called out a friendly greeting.

"What are you looking for?" he asked politely as Steve walked up to the counter. Bucky remained by the door warily, his posture painfully tense. Steve turned and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Bucky shifted uncomfortably, glancing outside before sighing. He moved forward, reluctantly coming to stand next to Steve.

"My friend needs a new outfit…something light enough to keep him cool, but solid enough to hide his body." Steve patted Bucky on the shoulder, making the soldier stiffen even further, "He's very self-conscious."

The tailor nodded thoughtfully as he went over to one side of the wall and pulled out a roll of white linen cloth. Steve glanced warily at Bucky as the tailor then moved to the other side and picked out a light tan roll. Bucky seemed to have relaxed somewhat, though his eyes still followed the tailor as he moved through the room.

"This for the shirt?" The tailor held up the white cloth and Steve nodded as he came over to examine it.

"I'll need measurements," The tailor looked a little nervous as he said this, "We can go in the back if your friend is uncomfortable."

Steve smiled. "Of course." He gestured for Bucky to come forward and the soldier did so unhappily, following the tailor to the back room with only a glare sent Steve's way. Steve waited in the front, listening carefully to the tailor's muttered instructions as he took Bucky's measurements.

The bell rang and Steve looked up as a man came in. The man's eyes were locked on his list and his lips moved slowly as if he were memorizing what was written on it.

"The tailors in the back," Steve said and the man's head whipped up, stopping just in time as he almost bumped into Steve. Steve frowned as he looked over the man's angular features…he looked very familiar…

"Oh!" He smiled, "Sorry, I was a little distracted."

Steve smiled and held out his hand, "Steve Rogers."

The man quickly put down his paper on the table and shook Steve's hand. "Jimmy Brock Butler," he smiled, and Steve felt a sliver of unease echo through him. The man continued, unaware of Steve's discomfort, "Most people just call me Rumlow."

Steve raised an eyebrow and turned Rumlow's arm to see the initials S.R. imprinted into his skin. Even as he watched, the letter's turned gold.

"My initials are J.B.B." He whispered. Rumlow looked down at the marks on his arm in confusion. Steve wished he could see his own marks, if only to make sure, but the wound would keep them from changing colors even if he could see the letters.

"Oh, jeeze." Rumlow dropped Steve's hand like it had burned him and ran his fingers through his short brown hair, "I…I gotta go, can you meet me at the bar around the corner…the Camel's Hump, in an hour?"

Steve nodded and Rumlow gave him a quick smile before he turned and left.

"Who was that?" The tailor asked as he and Bucky came back into the room.

"A guy," Steve grinned at Bucky, making the super soldier frown in confusion. He had taken off his mask while he was in there, and his blue eyes glittered in the sunlight. Steve's smile widened. He wanted to burst out shouting that he had finally met his soulmate, but forced himself to wait. It wasn't something he wanted to share with the tailor. Instead, he forced his his grin into a pleasant smile. "All done?"

Bucky nodded once and the tailor sighed as he began writing on a piece of paper. "That's quite the prosthetic your friend has," he said, "I had to take two measurements as it's a little bigger than the other arm. Come back tomorrow and the clothes will be ready." Steve nodded his thanks as he took the pickup paper and tucked it in his pocket, eager to be gone.

Bucky looked at him curiously as they left the shop and Steve's grin returned in full.

"I met this guy while you were in there." The words spilled out in a torrent of excitement. "His name is Jimmy Brock Butler…And his letters are S.R." He turned to Bucky. The super soldier had the most peculiar expression on his face, almost like panic. "And Bucky...They turned gold when I touched his hand!"

Bucky said nothing, he stared down at Steve, his face open and vulnerable, as if Steve had just plunged a knife into his chest. Steve immediately felt guilty. How could he expect Bucky to be happy for him when Bucky would never know his own soulmate? He looked away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but Bucky said nothing, pushing past him and leaving Steve to his own thoughts.

They spent the rest of the hour getting most of the things they needed. Steve checked Bucky into a hotel, giving him enough money to get the rest of the things before he headed towards the bar. Bucky had said nothing the whole time, and the super soldier's silence bothered Steve more than he liked to admit. He wished he could say something to make it better between them, but what could he say?

No one was inside the bar when he came inside except the bartender, and for a moment Steve felt a fission of unease, the same one he had felt at the tailor's. What if Rumlow wasn't coming? What if he thought Steve wasn't pretty enough? What if he was disappointed that such a small, sickly man was the one that matched his initials? Steve had never heard of it happening, but he wouldn't put it past anyone. He wasn't exactly Captain America. Actually, he didn't know anyone who looked like Shield's founder, except Bucky maybe. Steve shook his head, he was overthinking it. Maybe Rumlow was just late. Steve sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of beer.

"Where is everyone?" He asked the bartender. "Is this your peak time?"

The bartender shrugged, "Sick, there's been a massive outbreak of the flu and without water, people are suffering. The doctors are working on a cure but…"

Steve nodded as he sipped his beer thoughtfully. There hadn't been an outbreak of the flu since…since the last famine. It had taken years to get rid of it fully.

"Steve?"

Steve turned and smiled as he saw Rumlow standing there. "Rumlow," he stopped awkwardly and Rumlow stepped forwards, pulling Steve into a kiss.

It felt…wrong.

Steve kissed him back anyway, winding his arms around the taller man's neck and pulling him down to kiss him. He barely registered the door slamming open and the bartender shouting something before something latched onto his arm. He yelped as he was thrown backwards, away from Rumlow.

"Hey!" Steve snapped as Bucky moved in front of him.

Rumlow wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, an ugly expression on his face. "Can I help you?" He sneered.

"Buck, he's my soulmate, it's okay!" Steve said as he tugged at Bucky's arm.

"It's not okay!" Bucky growled. "He's not your soulmate, Steve, he's Hydra!"

Steve was stunned. Bucky was going to do this now? "He's not part of your mystical terrorist group! Bucky!" Steve grabbed Bucky's arm, desperate to stop the rage he could feel brewing between the two men. Bucky yanked his arm away, sending Steve tumbling to the ground. Steve's head hit the barstool and his vision began to swim as Bucky lunged at Rumlow. The sounds of flesh thudding against flesh urged Steve to his feet. There was an earsplitting crack and Rumlow fell to the ground, clutching his arm as Bucky grabbed him by his neck and hauled him into the air, his metal arm flashing in the moonlight streaming through the window.

"You stay away from Steve," Bucky growled. "Did you think I wouldn't remember you? The only reason I'm not going to kill you now is because of him." Rumlow gasped for air, his feet jerking around as he tried to find stable footing. Bucky dropped him and he collapsed to the ground, gasping desperately for air. Steve stumbled toward him, but stopped as Rumlow laughed. It was a vicious, terrible sound, the kind of sound one made when they knew their enemy was going to suffer.

"We will find you," he choked out, leveling a look of pure hate at Bucky. "Hydra will always win, cut off one head...two more shall take its place."

Bucky knelt down and Steve's heart skipped a beat as he smiled at Rumlow It wasn't a nice smile, more of a promise. Bucky's eyes glittered, "Who said anything about heads?" He murmured, and with a sickening squelch, he plunged his hand into Rumlow's chest.

Steve turned away, bile coming up in his mouth. He could hear Rumlow screaming, but then he stopped and there was only silence left along with a sickening dripping noise Steve didn't want to think about. He stumbled back, turning and running for the door. He made it outside only to fall to the ground, acid burning in his throat. The door opened and closed, the quiet ring of a bell breaking the silence. Steve looked up and cringed away from Bucky even as his throat and chest burned with dry heaves.

Bucky waited until Steve was finished before he held out Steve's pack. It was with his flesh and blood hand, Steve noticed. His metal hand was dripping blood onto the dusty ground. Steve watched it mix with the dust, though the ground was too dead to try to soak up the moisture. Dead. The ground was dead. Like Rumlow. Like Steve's hope.

"You killed him," Steve whispered, looking up at Bucky's cold eyes.

"He wasn't yours, Steve." Bucky knelt next to Steve, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "He was Hydra."

"How did you know?" Steve jerked back. Bucky smiled bitterly, letting his hand fall. Steve looked down at the blood dripping into the dirt and panic began to build in his chest He had to go, had to get away.

He seized his pack and ran, dodging people right and left as he fled from the soldier. It was fruitless, he knew. Bucky could have caught him if he wanted to, but he didn't.


End file.
